[ At Korra's elbow, Hei lobs butter squares into a bowl, sprinkling it with thyme, lemon juice, and crushed garlic before he batters it into a smooth paste. The way Korra looks and sounds, would once upon a time have been where he knew he had to create an opening. Widen a crack of vulnerability into a fissure of spilled secrets. But right now there's no sense of cold purpose. There are things Hei remembers learning (lies, elicitation, snapping necks) and things he remembers forgetting (honesty, simplicity, security). Parents were high up on the latter list. He'd learnt to blot them out, to keep his head up, get on with the mission, and look after Pai. Face forward. ]
[ Too much backwards-looking, and like Lot's wife, you'd end up a part of the landscape. A useless carcass. ]
[ He doesn't look up, making quick work of the paste, like this is an unarguably casual conversation, as he asks, ]
Did they send you to boot camp? Or was there a Spartan structure to raising kids in your homeworld?
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[ Too much backwards-looking, and like Lot's wife, you'd end up a part of the landscape. A useless carcass. ]
[ He doesn't look up, making quick work of the paste, like this is an unarguably casual conversation, as he asks, ]
Did they send you to boot camp? Or was there a Spartan structure to raising kids in your homeworld?